Incandescent
by Alistair Ulven
Summary: "Pretense was never really your strong suit." -In which George is in denial, and Hermione helps him realize that he isn't as strong as he thinks he is.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter one:**

Hermione absently sipped her glass of butterbeer, listening as the Weasley's and Harry conversed lowly, but not without an air of contentment. A year after the Second Wizarding War, they had all gathered today for the traditional Christmas Dinner –now on the dessert course. It was a nice gathering, but still not as merry as these dinners used to be, as one of the nine Weasley's was conspicuously absent, and the rest were trying their best to cope with the loss and not put their grief on show.

A year after Fred Weasley's passing, and his loss felt as acute as it had on that day at Hogwarts. They tried not to show it, but they all felt it; especially evident in the way that Molly Weasley's eyes sometimes got misty after seeing George, a reminder of the son she had lost.

Hermione's eyes cast downwards towards her half-finished pudding. He had to be the one feeling it the most; George. The twins had always been together, best friends and fellow pranksters. If Fred's death had saddened Hermione immensely, and she couldn't begin to imagine how his twin felt. He sat directly across from her, chatting with Percy, a seemingly cheerful smile etched on his face, but if one looked closely –and she was looking closely—they would notice how the smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and the tightness at the corners of his mouth.

A dull pain throbbed at Hermione's chest at seeing the once jovial and mischievous twin so far from his former state, and without someone who was no doubt of the utmost importance to him. She was on the verge of letting out a sigh when his eyes met with hers, fixing her with an unreadable look. Her face flushing, she quickly looked away and focused on her food, the redness not quite leaving her cheeks.

"Hermione, are you ill? You look red," Ginny asked concernedly from beside her, serving only to increase her flush.

"I'm fine, it must just be the butterbeer," she answered in what she hoped was a convincing tone. It seemed to satisfy Ginny as she offered Hermione a smile and turned back around to chat with Harry.

She was on the last vestiges of her pudding when George spoke out, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up.

"Well, I'm full. Amazing food as always, mum. I'm just going to step outside for a bit, get some fresh air."

No one protested at this, and George's charming smile fooled nobody. He left, and Mr. Weasley let out a pained sigh, but said nothing. The earlier content atmosphere disappeared and in its place, a heavy silence descended as everybody finished up, and Ginny and Hermione did the dishes, urging Molly to get some rest.

Hermione scrubbed the dishes the Muggle way, hoping that the action would take her mind off of thoughts like what the red-headed man outside was up to, but she kept glancing out the window into the moonlit milieu. The moonlight helped her make out botched trees and bushes, but no George Weasley.

"We're all worried about him," Ginny's statement was sudden, and Hermione almost dropped her dish into the soapy water in the sink.

"We all mourn Fred," she continued, her breath hitching lightly at her deceased older brother's name, "But George is surely taking it the worse. He doesn't speak to anybody about it; doesn't let them comfort him, and we're all at a loss at what to do."

Hermione was quiet, and for a few minutes, the only sounds heard were the squeaks of dishes being wiped and quiet chatter in the living room.

"Have you tried speaking with him?"

"We've tried, but he doesn't listen. Keeps insisting he's fine when he's obviously not. I reckon the only thing that keeps him sane is Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

They did the rest of the dishes with no more talk between them, but the look Ginny gave her as she bade her goodnight made her intentions clear to Hermione. She wiped her hands on a napkin and leaned against the kitchen table, thoughts flickering and dimming like the flame of a candle. She peaked in the living room to see that George was indeed not back yet, and made up her mind.

Grabbing a cloak, she draped it across her shoulders and set out through the back door. A cold breeze nipped at her skin and the moon must have hidden behind some clouds because she could see nothing in the dark. Uttering a quick "lumos", she held her wand in front of her as she walked, the steady stream of light illuminating a gravelly path, glass flanking it on either side.

Stone crunched under the soles of her sneakers, and Hermione willed herself not to look anywhere but directly in front of her, lest she got spooked by some mouse running across the ground.

"George?" she called out tentatively. "Are you there?" She had a crazy notion that he might jump out of the dark to scare her, but then she realized he probably wouldn't do that anymore.

"Hermione?" his voice called from above and puzzled, Hermione raised her wand upwards, revealing the branches of a tree, and George Weasley sitting on one, staring down at her in surprise.

He dropped down with a loud thud, unsurprisingly landing on his feet a few ways away from Hermione, a very perplexed expression plastered on his face.

"It's dark out, what're you doing here?"

"I was looking for you," this was uttered in a very Hermione-like, matter of fact manner.

"Er, well, _why_?" this was very different from the George Weasley she had known from Hogwarts, who was never flustered, and always had a joke ready for the occasion. It made her sad to realize how much deep loss could change a person.

Hermione's mind whirred in an attempt to find a proper reason and was quick to notice that he was only clad in a thin shirt and trousers.

"It's a cold night, and I thought you might want this," she held out the heavy cloak, which he accepted with thanks after a few seconds of awkwardly staring at the dark material. He fastened the cloak over his person, grateful for the warmth it provided.

"You aren't going to ask me to come back inside?"

Hermione shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to fight the chill, now that she no longer had the cloak.

"You seem like you need some time to yourself. But remember, George, you aren't alone in this. I'll see you in the morning." With that, she turned on her heel and was walking back to The Burrow, following the small trail of light from her wand, and leaving a very bewildered George in her wake.

* * *

So. Yeah, this is the first chapter of my "Christmas" ficlet, and I still have no idea how long it will be, but I hope you guys enjoyed this, and will stick with me c: It's also my first time trying this pairing, and I hope I'm doing it justice. As for my reasons, well, I've been indulging in a two day long cry fest about Fred and George, and I figured I might as well get everything out by writing. My mind has literally being going "George, George, Fred, FREDDIE, food, George, Fred, Fred, George, George, food, Fred" for the past two days so yeah ^^"

Please review! They make me happy and I'd love to know what you guys think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two:**

Morning came fast, and Hermione found herself searching for George's familiar frame as she drank her hot cocoa at the table. She had felt it right not to say too much last night; he needed to grieve but he also needed to know that there were still people that cared for him, herself included. She let Crookshanks stretch out on her lap as she contemplated how to approach him again –it was as if she had suddenly embarked on a mission to watch out for him.

The Weasley siblings that had come back for Christmas Day had already left for work when Hermione awoke. Ginny was practicing with her team, which left Harry, Ron, George, Molly, and Hermione at home, as Mr. Weasley had also taken off to the Ministry. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which Ron and George managed now, was closed for a short Christmas break.

Hermione was helping Molly set the table for breakfast when the boys finally walked in, still clad in their pyjamas and rubbing sleep from their eyes. Ron and Harry started to dig into the bacon, eggs and bread Molly had prepared almost immediately, but George looked directly at Hermione before taking a seat, his eyes plainly betraying his curiosity at her actions the night before. Most of his family had already tried to speak with him about dealing with Fred's death, and he had expected Hermione to do the same, but she'd surprised him.

She smiled at him in a way that betrayed nothing, and set to work on her breakfast, enjoying Molly's delicious spread. George frowned, and then let the thought leave his mind as he dug in. Later, he would confront her.

Later came in a few hours, when Hermione was curled up on a cozy chair in the room she and Ginny shared, so deeply engrossed in a book that she didn't notice him arrive.

He cleared his throat loudly, and Hermione jumped, her wand hand raising in reflex, and then lowering it when she realized it was only George. She smiled inwardly; he had decided to come to her.

"Startled you, did I? Sorry about that," he almost smiled for a second, and Hermione's heart soared, seeing a glimpse of who he really was, but then it was all but gone and his mouth dissolved into a hard line.

"What was that about, yesterday? Did Mum send you? I keep telling all of you that I'm f-,"

Here, Hermione cut him off, setting her book on the cluttered bedside table. She skewered him with a look, russet eyes stern.

"You're what? Fine? Is that what you meant to say? Mrs. Weasley didn't send me, George, and it's quite obvious that pushing everyone away is not helping you with coping." She was standing up now, and somehow managed to look intimidating although she barely came up to his chest.

Faintly reminding Hermione of Ron, he opened his mouth to say something and then closed it, a groan dying in his throat. For a moment, it appeared as if though the mask he now always wore around his family slipped, and the pain he felt was bare on his face.

Hermione's eyes softened.

And then, the moment was gone.

"That is what I meant to say. I'm alright, Hermione, I'm coping. I appreciate your concern but I'd prefer to do this my way," her eyes noticed the way his fingers somewhat shook as he spoke, but his tone was decided. She'd almost forgotten how stubborn he could be –Fred too.

But that was alright, she would be lying if she said she had expected him to listen to her this easy. She would be patient.

"Alright then," was all the answer she gave him and George bit back a sigh before striding out the room.

Hermione watched his retreating back, and settled back down on her chair, cracking her book open to where she'd stopped.

"Pretense was never really your strong suit, though."

* * *

The next couple of days continued in much the same fashion, except she could never find a chance to talk to George again, properly this time. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was back in business once more and he was almost always out of the house, or with someone else, and New Years was fast approaching, which meant the day she had to go home was nearing.

It was nighttime and Hermione had just locked the door to Percy's room, having taken the liberty to borrow some of his books –he wouldn't be missing them anytime soon. Carrying three tomes of considerable volume, she moseyed along the corridor, content to take her time.

She was nearly at the staircase when she heard voices coming from the twins' –no, George's—bedroom. Maybe he had apparated straight back to his room after work. She paused, and then decided that it would be wrong to eavesdrop on private conversations, and had started to descend the staircase when a muffled sob reached her ears.

Trying to push down her guilty conscience about eavesdropping, she took a few steps back until she was standing in front of George's door, which was faintly ajar.

"It's George, mum," his voice was soft and controlled and Hermione had to bite her lip to stifle a gasp as she heard Mrs. Weasley's quiet sobbing.

"Oh, I'm s-sorry, George, dear. It's just that you're –you're so alike, I'll just bring yours up-,"she didn't need to listen any longer to piece together what had happened; Molly had mistook him for Fred. Hermione swallowed slowly; her throat had gone as dry as sandpaper. She was quick to step away from the door and descend the staircase, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Hermione couldn't possibly blame Molly; she was in no place to judge how a mother who had lost her son would be feeling. Maybe this explained George's behavior. Perhaps he thought he was burdening his mother, and the rest of his family, being a constant reminder of his dead twin. The thought made her eyes sting.

She entered Ginny's room, and dropped down onto her bed, the books dumped unceremoniously on the floor. They lay there forgotten while her thoughts revolved around the red-haired man on the above floor, who was clutching a burgundy sweater with the letter "F" embroidered on it in gold.

* * *

Please excuse any mistakes; I have proofread this but it's late at night so I'm not entirely confident. I do hope you enjoyed this chapter!

As always, reviews are highly appreciated, would love it if you guys dropped a line or two!


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